The Heir of Thornfield Manor Read online

Agent Finley. Her contact.

  She went to say his first name, but went blank. So, she improvised. “How are you, Fin?”

  He sighed in relief. “Great.”

  “It’s so good to see you. What’s it been? Five—”

  “A year.” He grabbed her shoulders and turned her, leading them away from the building.

  Okay, this was getting ridiculous. “Boy, how time flies.”

  “I have to run inside and grab my keys; then we’ll head out,” he said halfway down the path. “Don’t talk to anyone.”

  She nodded.

  He turned and ran back inside, faster than he’d come out. She leaned against the passenger-side door of her car and turned her face up to the sun. Seemed like something a normal person would do, and not a cop who was trying to figure out what the heck was going on.

  “James,” she stage-whispered as his name came to her. James Finley.

  Seconds later, Agent Finley was running down the path, his large frame moving with a grace she hadn’t really expected in a man so large. “I’m so sorry about that,” he said.

  She raised her brows at him.

  He grinned. “I’ll explain everything as soon as we get out of earshot. Lots of gossips in this town. You can follow me to my house. I drive the blue Chevy Silverado.” He pointed to his truck in the parking lot at the side of the building.

  She gestured for him to proceed with a long sweep of her arm. “Lead the way.”

  He did as he was told. She had not been happy when he’d hugged her, and even less so when his cover story failed to coincide with hers, but the man was friendly, likable. She decided to hold off on all judgments until she got a better lay of the land and of Finley.

  She followed him a couple blocks to a row of white townhomes. Before pulling into a covered parking spot, he pointed at a guest parking spot, signaling for her to go there. She parked, then reached for her bag from the passenger seat. Her door opened just as she went for the handle. Finley let her step out, then shut the door behind her.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “I’d better get on your good side; you really know how to pack a punch.” He rubbed at his arm where she’d socked him earlier. She felt a little pang of regret, but smiled. Growing up with three brothers sometimes made her unaware of how rough she was being.

  Taking her bag, he led her three doors down to his place. The townhome had lots of space and butted up against a large, manicured field with a playground in the back. His apartment had minimal furniture: a couch, a coffee table, a TV in the living room, and a serviceable but small table in the dining room. She’d bet his room was just as sparse. He was working here, and furniture would be the last thing most officers would consider. Bare bones to survive was usually plenty.

  He sat her bag down by the door and gestured for her to follow him into the dining room.

  His round cedar table was covered in photographs and paperwork. Finley sat and gestured for her to do the same. “What do you know about this case?”

  “Not much.” She took a seat. “Two murders, one from three years ago and one recent. And I’m going undercover in the house of the first victim?”

  He nodded and started pushing papers around. “The first victim was Katelyn Daley, killed in her home in Thornfield; the second, Dr. Jason Newlin in his home in San Francisco. The husband of the first victim left town after the murder. He had a solid alibi, but when he came back six weeks ago, the powers that be sent me here. I have a photo of him somewhere—”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Patrick Daley. His father gave him the home the year before the murder took place. I’ll find his photo in a minute.” He grabbed a file and opened it. “Now that Newlin died in the same way as Katelyn Daley, we have reason to be concerned.” From the file he held, he handed her the crime scene photos of Katelyn Daley. She’d been shot execution style.

  “You think the husband killed her?”

  “No, but when he returned, one of our supervisory agents and a friend of Daley’s suggested we keep an eye on him.”

  “Why?”

  “Daley is a private detective—has done some consulting with Feds under Agent Rafferty. Daley is cunning, and whenever anything comes up regarding his wife, he can become … unhinged. Rafferty thinks Daley’s up to something, and the powers that be concur. Daley went to see Dr. Newlin at his practice in San Francisco a month ago, and the next morning Newlin was found dead in his home. He was seen alive after Daley left, and Daley’s housekeeper confirms that he was at home around the time of Newlin’s death. But …” He pushed another photo toward her.

  In it, a young man, maybe in his early to mid-thirties, lay in the middle of his living room on his side with a puddle of blood pooled around his chest. His dark hair contrasted with his skin, making it appear paler than normal. His mouth hung open, and his eyes were wide and fogged over. He’d been dead a while when they’d taken this photo.

  She reached for the cross she always wore under her shirt. “What a waste.”

  “Newlin was killed in the same manner as Katelyn Daley. Five shots to the chest at close range. And, like Katelyn, it appears he let his killer in.”

  They knew their killer, then. “Any suspects?”

  He shook his head. “The crime scene at Newlin’s was clean, just like at the Daleys’. We canvassed Newlin’s neighborhood, but no one saw or heard anything. In Thornfield, Police Chief Shaw firmly believed it was a drifter. He even had witnesses that placed him heading to the scene of the crime: Debbie Martel—”

  “From the convenience store?”

  “Yeah. And Phil Strong. He owns a farm on the outskirts of town. The night Katelyn was murdered, Debbie saw our homeless man with a gun across the street from her store. According to Debbie, the man got in a new blue Honda and drove off.” Finley scratched his head. “Phil Strong said he saw the same man in the same car pull off onto Old Frontage Road going toward the Daley manor. They later tried to locate the man, but he’d vanished.”

  “Could he have been made up?”

  Finley shook his head. “Chief Shaw says no, and there were several other witnesses in Thornfield who saw the homeless man in the weeks leading up to Katelyn Daley’s death.”

  “Do we know the man’s name?”

  “Alan, no last name. On top of that, there were several witnesses who said that Katelyn often stopped to talk to him and give him food.”

  “There was a connection between them, then.” She nodded. “If he was homeless, what was he doing with a new Honda?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.” He turned in his seat to face her. “Here’s the thing: both Debbie and Phil knew exactly when they saw him get in the Honda, down to the minute, and the times they gave were exactly forty and thirty-five minutes from Katelyn’s estimated time of death. It takes thirty minutes to get to the Daleys’ home from the turnoff at the end of Main onto Frontage.”

  “They’re lying?”

  “They could be. If they are, I can’t find a motive. It was late when Katelyn was killed. Main Street has good lighting at night, but not so good that Debbie couldn’t have been wrong about seeing a gun. Even she admits she’s not sure what she saw.” He picked up Katelyn’s crime scene photo and placed it next to Dr. Newlin’s photo. “Chief Shaw had the entire case wrapped up nicely and moved on, but he missed things, did a shoddy job at best. First, that Katelyn never have let the man in, especially so late at night. Second, the military precision of the shots fired. Both bodies had four directly to the sternum, with a fifth just above, in between the clavicle.”

  She took a closer look. He was right: four shots to the sternum, and one between the clavicle. “Have you shared these findings with Chief Shaw yet?”

  He shook his head. “About a year after the murder, Shaw came into some money. Packed up and relocated to Wyoming. The new police chief, Frank Marshall, is a good guy, but he has no clue what’s going on. The case went cold long before he came on board, and we’re keeping inform
ation about Newlin under wraps until we know more.”

  “What’s the connection between Newlin and Katelyn?”

  He shrugged. “Here are the facts. Both vics were killed execution style with five shots to the chest and in the same grouping. Both let their killer into their homes. Both were killed after eleven at night. And the husband of the first victim, Patrick Daley, was in San Francisco on the day Newlin was shot and had an appointment with him, but was back in Thornfield when Newlin was killed. We don’t think Daley’s responsible, but the fact is, he knows more than he’s saying. That’s where you come in. You’re to keep an eye on Patrick. You don’t need to follow him around all the time—in fact, don’t, or he’ll figure you out. Just keep a respectable distance, and if you see or hear anything suspicious, you let me know immediately.”

  “Yes, sir.” She crossed her arms. “What’s my cover at the mansion?”

  Pulling a photo from a file, he tossed it to her. A pretty, auburn-haired woman about her age smiled up at her. “This is Helen Smith, the groundskeeper at Thornfield Manor. She needs help during the summer months, and she’s agreed to take you on. The best part is, it’s a live-in position.” He grinned at her. “Welcome to the team.”

  Chapter Two

  While the town of Thornfield was relatively small, the city limits expanded out well beyond the city center. Despite the thirty-minute drive, the drive seemed to fly by. She was nervous about pretending to be a gardener even after Finley had assured her no knowledge was needed. Why would they hire a gardener who knew nothing about gardening?

  Patches of field peeked through the mostly forested area as she cruised down the Frontage Road. She had to admit the place was beautiful, one of the loveliest she’d seen in California even despite the intense heat. It had a surreal fairy-tale-like feel to it, from its white church at the end of town, to the brick city hall with a clock and bell tower, to the wide expanse of land with its rolling fields and deep forests.

  At a little more than five minutes to the house, a huge wall appeared parallel to the road. Another minute, and a cute little green door with a pointed top came into view in the middle of the wall.

  She stopped in front of the decorative wrought-iron gates and leaned forward to get a clearer view of the driveway. It was massive. She couldn’t even see the house at the end of the driveway. And all of it was grass and trees and flowers. Beautiful, to be sure, but more than she’d anticipated by far.

  “Holy crap.” She was supposed to help maintain this place?

  Reaching out her window to a speaker box, she pushed the button and waited. Finley hadn’t mentioned the gate or the camera pointed at it. Had that camera been there when the murder happened? Or the gate, for that matter? Or was it all new?

  “Hello?” a female voice gasped through the speaker. “Hello?”

  “Hi, I’m here for the gardening position?”

  A huge sigh of relief. “Oh, thank goodness.” A beep. “Come through. I’ll meet you at the house.”

  The gates swung open, revealing a gravel path lined with flowering trees. The large flowers were starting to fall and lined the road with purple blossoms that floated up behind Elizabeth as she passed. Beautiful.

  Through the trees, a Gothic manor house came into view. It was made of gray stones and had three stories. Ivy grew up the sides, around the numerous chimneys, and even through the mouths of several gargoyles. Rows of windows covered the front of the house, the tops decorated with stained glass in different shades of blue, purple, and brown.

  A shiver went up her spine as she took it in. The place gave her the creeps. She supposed it was beautiful in its own way, but it was too big, too gaudy, too much. Stepping out of her vehicle, she stared at the arched front door and frowned.

  Scattering rocks and the repetitive motion of feet running across gravel drew Elizabeth’s attention to the right. The young woman from the photo sprinted around a corner, her long auburn braid whipping behind her as she came. She waved. “Hi, there. Are you Elizabeth?” She stopped a few feet away and hunched over on her knees.

  “Yes.” Elizabeth signaled to her. “Helen?”

  Helen took a deep breath. She nodded and extended her hand, dirty garden glove and all. “Nice to meet you.”

  Elizabeth took her hand and grinned. “You too.”

  “I’m so glad you’re here. I’m in desperate need of help.” She pulled a baseball cap from her back pocket and put it on. “Spring is our busiest season, but summer is a close runner-up.”

  “I bet. This place is huge.”

  Helen waved a hand at her. “Oh, don’t worry about that. We only take care of the gardens around the house, with exception of one orchard. Most of the property is fields and forest land. Come on, I’ll show you.”

  Elizabeth followed her around back, glancing out over the hedges and garden beds. All the pathways were lined with low-lying hedges cut into straight lines, and each diverging path had knee-high round hedges. Peppered throughout were coned, spiral, and pyramid-shaped hedges. Flowers of so many beautiful colors gave the garden an almost otherworldly feel. There were poppies, too. She recognized those because they were her mom’s favorite. And snapdragons, because you could make them talk. When her brothers were little, they loved that.

  “Did you design all this? It’s breathtaking.”

  “Me?” Helen chuckled. “No. I wish. I only started here five years ago.”

  “You live here too?”

  “In the town, yes. Here, no. The housekeeper, Alice Dawes, lives here, though. I’ll take you to meet her in a minute.” She pointed to the bushes as they passed. “As you can see, I’ve pruned most of the hedges in the front and am almost done with the back. We need to collect the clippings and take them to the pyre out by the stables.”

  “Stables? Are there horses?”

  “Not anymore. Half is a garage, and the other half is our greenhouse, workshop, and shed.” She stopped and signaled with a wide sweep. “We need to have this area cleaned, weeded, and ready for planting by the end of the week.”

  “What’s Mr. Daley like?”

  Helen came up short and turned on her so fast she had to skid to a stop to keep from running into her. “I suppose you heard about his late wife?”

  Elizabeth took a step back. “Just that she passed away.”

  Helen nodded and took a deep breath. “Probably better that you hear it from me than from the town gossips. His wife was murdered here a little more than three and half years ago.”

  “That’s horrible,” Elizabeth said.

  “Alice found her shortly after it happened. Mr. Daley was out of town that night on business. Anyway, he left after that and has only been back a handful of times since.” She placed her hands on her hips. “He could’ve fired me. Could’ve abandoned the place and never looked back. I would’ve. But he didn’t, and because of that, Alice and I still have jobs. This place makes up a third of my yearly income.”

  “You think he’s a good man.” Elizabeth had wondered about that. An employee’s opinion of their boss often spoke volumes of that person.

  “He is.” She waved at Elizabeth to follow and wound her way to the side of the mansion, toward a building made of rocks with several garages and several windows on the sides and atop the pitched roof. “He is, but losing Katelyn … it changed him.”

  Elizabeth understood that. Her dad had completely morphed in the years after her mother’s death, going from sweet, playful, and responsible to lethargic, not caring about work, and ultimately a depressed drunk. The death of a loved one could change a person.

  Helen pointed to the building ahead. In front of it, in the courtyard, weeds, branches, and other yard debris were piled knee high. “These are the stables. Everything you need for working in the garden is in here.” She pointed to some bushes growing on one side of the stables. “You see that?”

  She nodded.

  “It’s a belladonna bush.”

  She blinked. “Isn’t belladonna poisonous?�
��

  “Yep, and it can be lethal. But in a few weeks it’ll start blooming with the prettiest bright purple trumpet flowers you’ve ever seen. Best to stay away from it—even touching it can cause a rash.”

  “If it’s so dangerous, why keep it?”

  “Alice, the housekeeper, makes a salve out of it to soothe the tendonitis in her hands.”

  “It can do that?”

  “It can do all sorts of things. You can ask Alice about it; she’d love to share.” Helen placed her hands on her hips.

  “Isn’t that risky?”

  “Probably, but we’re all a little crazy around here.” She paused, then spoke under her breath. “Especially me.”

  “Yoo-hoo!” a wispy female voice called.

  Elizabeth and Helen turned toward the house. A side door stood open with a woman standing there, waving a hand over her head. She had salt-and-pepper hair that she wore in a layered bob. She wore jeans and a T-shirt, and a frilly apron.

  “Hello.” The woman clasped her hands as she came down the one step and headed toward them.

  “Afternoon, Alice.” Helen waved.

  “Is this her?” Alice came to a stop in front of them. “Our new boarder?”

  Elizabeth nodded.

  “Yes,” Helen said.

  “Hi.” Elizabeth offered her hand.

  Alice wiped her hands on her white apron, which was covered in little kiss marks, then grasped Elizabeth’s with both of hers. “It’s so good to meet you. I love this time of year. It’s nice to have someone else on the property.” She looked at Helen. “Why didn’t you bring her in to meet me?”

  Helen smiled. “I was going to right after I showed her the stables. Is Patrick back yet?”

  “No, I don’t think he’ll be here until tomorrow. Or possibly the next day,” Alice said.

  Helen breathed out.

  “Still haven’t talked to him about the trees in the orchard?”

  “Nope,” Helen said.

  “I’ll send him to find you the moment I see him.” Alice lifted her chin, then faced Elizabeth again. “I have your room ready, dear. I’m sure you’ll be comfortable.”